


Ink Garden

by SD_Ryan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Drabble, Fluff, Gen, M/M, meet cute, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:46:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SD_Ryan/pseuds/SD_Ryan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes had never paid much attention to his classmate, John Watson, before one boring class, one sleeping student, and one swift doodle brought them together.</p><p>A silly bit of fluff inspired by a (now lost) tumblr post and dedicated to fellow Sherlockian, Beth. All errors and pesky Americanisms are mine. Drop me a line if you see something that needs editing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink Garden

It’d started as a way to help him think. All those bits of flotsam and jetsam floating around Sherlock’s head—chalky mud on a pair of trainers, ink-stained fingers, red fibers clinging to a grey jumper—he needed something to focus his racing mind while the world bombarded him with information. So he doodled, drawing nonsense shapes or swirling clouds, repeating fleur-de-lis or the curve of an ear. Sketching gave him something to do while he sorted, categorized, and deduced his classmates. (Mud: bullied by an upperclassman. Ink: in love with Maths tutor. Fibers: sick grandmother.)  
  
He hadn’t intended to pursue it in any conscious way, so was much surprised to discover he had a certain aptitude for art. Mycroft would have told him—had the giant ponce not abandoned him for university—that a Holmes can do whatever a Holmes puts his (or in the case of Mummy, _her_ ) mind to. He wouldn’t have been amazed by Sherlock’s artistic proficiency any more than he was amazed by his younger brother’s mastery of the violin or expertise in chemistry. But Mycroft was hundreds of miles away, so couldn’t disabuse Sherlock of his own wonder at the development.  
  
When a class became particularly tedious or he’d corrected his teacher’s errors one too many times and risked regrettable consequences (“Wrong! Increased CO2 emissions have a direct correlation to declining calcification rates in coral reefs!”), Sherlock diverted himself by taking pen to page. So it seemed natural, then, to spy an untouched bit of paper, a sprawling white expanse, and to reach across the aisle to doodle a cheerful flower on his sleeping classmate’s notebook.  
  
John Watson was a footballer and, by all accounts, a “stand up guy”—though what people meant by that vague bit of flattery, Sherlock didn’t know. From the style of his hair, the white dust on his trousers, and the sorry state of his shirtsleeves, Sherlock deduced that John helped support his (single) mother with an after school job at the grocer’s, was passing Science while failing Latin, and had lately picked up a tentative smoking habit (though he’d surely give it up by week’s end).  
  
A bit of drool slipped from John’s mouth, and Sherlock was inspired to add a teardrop-shaped calla lily to the page. Before he’d finished shading in the finger-like spadix in the middle of the bloom, his classmate sighed and shifted, prying a single eye open and catching Sherlock in the act.  
  
Sherlock stilled.  
  
Blinked.  
  
Turned.  
  
Then he drew his hand back to his own desk and did a passable impression of someone fully engaged in the goings on of the classroom.  
  
It wasn’t until his teacher was in the midst of an infuriatingly vague description of coralline algae, and the bell was about to ring, that Sherlock risked a glance at his classmate. To his surprise, the small blossoms Sherlock had added to the corner of the page were now joined by two dozen or so friends. When he saw Sherlock looking, John clapped a hand over the drawing, then closed the notebook altogether. By the time John’s cheeks had flushed a truly magnificent shade of red, Sherlock had worked out the materials that would best highlight the young man’s features (charcoal on Fabriano Tiziano paper in ivory), and in what position the artist would have him pose.  
  
As you might imagine—a Holmes being adept at whatever a Holmes puts his mind to—events transpired just as planned, and Sherlock and John were mutually delighted by day’s end.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT 2/21/14: This story is in honor of fellow Sherlockian, Beth. It was initially a gift of silly words to cheer her up as she struggled with a terminal illness. Beth has since passed away, and while she's gone, she has clearly touched so many lives. 
> 
> This from Beth's personal tumblr, teaat221b: "Until I am magicked off to Hogwarts or am called upon by Sherlock Holmes, I'm passing the time by drinking excessive amounts of tea, adoring vintage clothing, soaking up 'Florence and the Machine' and holding onto childhood memories. I believe a cup of tea makes any of life problems better."
> 
> I like to think of Beth having a cuppa with Dumbledore right now.
> 
> You can read about her celebration of life service here, if you're interested in learning more: http://www.peacearchnews.com/community/229943841.html


End file.
